


Sweet Dreams

by brinnanza



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bed-sharing, M/M, Sleeping Pills, comment-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock does not want to go to sleep. John takes matters into his own hands. Sherlock reacts... differently to John's methods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams

It's right around day four of Sherlock's case-related self-enforced insomnia that Doctor Watson firmly overtakes Friend John in his head. 

“We can do this the easy way or I can crush it into your evening tea,” says John evenly, setting an orange prescription bottle on the kitchen table. He looks evenly at Sherlock, who's paused with a coffee cup halfway to his lips.

Sherlock sets the cup down. “While I appreciate your concern, John,” he says matter-of-factly, “I am aware of my body's occasional need for sleep and I certainly do not need the aid of pharmaceuticals to slow down the great investigative power of my brain.” Sherlock resumes drinking his coffee and John rolls his eyes. 

“If you say so,” says John with a sigh. The hard way it is.

Later that night, they arrive home at Baker Street, the murderer in custody and another case solved. The adrenaline from the chase is wearing off, and John thinks maybe Sherlock will finally get some sleep. “Tea?” he asks Sherlock, moving toward the kitchen.

Sherlock is sprawled out on the sofa, fingers wiggling. “Yes. No.” He lets out a groan of impatience. “I'll make it myself.” He mutters something about not trusting John with drugs in the flat.

“That's a first,” remarks John, flopping down in his arm chair. He listens to Sherlock bustling about in the kitchen and smirks, picking up a book from the table next to him.

Sherlock returns with his tea a few moments later and sits back down on the sofa. He takes a sip. “You look tired,” he says to John. “Perhaps you should go to sleep.”

John lowers his book and peers at Sherlock over the top of it. “And what about you? You've been up for four days in a row.”

“Adrenaline. I assure you, I am quite capable of monitoring my own body functions.”

John doesn't comment and Sherlock finishes his tea. Sherlock grabs his violin and plucks idly at the strings. After few minutes, he lets out a huff and tosses it back down on the sofa. He makes to get up and John peers over his book again to see Sherlock flop back down again. He tries again and makes it all the way up but he wobbles and ends up in a heap on the floor.

“You put it in the tea?” Sherlock accuses, his voice a little slurred. “You drugged me!”

John puts the books down. “Yes, yes I did. You need the sleep. Let's get you to bed.” He gets up and extends a hand to Sherlock. Once he's upright, John pulls Sherlock's arm over his own shoulder and puts his own arm around Sherlock's waist to steady him. With Sherlock hobbling and John holding up most of his torso, they manage to make it to the bedroom.

John releases Sherlock, who collapses in a mess of limbs on top of the bed clothes. “You should sleep for at least eight hours,” John tells Sherlock, and he smiles when he hears his friend's breathing slow and deepen. Finally, John can get some sleep of his own.

\----

John is enjoying a particularly nice dream involving the blonde cashier in the grocery shop from the other day when wakes with a start, hearing his bedroom door opening. He's just flung off the covers when Sherlock appears in the doorway, his clothes rumpled and hair sticking up.

“Sherlock?” asks John, confused. He's supposed to be asleep for at least—he checks the clock—six more hours. Sherlock doesn't answer; he just crosses the room to the bed and crawls in next to John.

“Sherlock?” John asks again, a more concerned note in his voice this time. He gets out of the bed to inspect Sherlock, make sure nothings broken or bleeding or wrong. He looks fine—just sleeping. John doesn't recall his flatmate being a sleepwalker, but then he remembers a frequent side effect of the medication he gave to Sherlock. 

Of course, Sherlock wouldn't remember this in the morning, but better John save himself the hassle of explaining. He pulls the covers off of Sherlock (who has nestled underneath them) and yanks his legs toward the edge of the bed. “Back to your own bed,” John says, mostly to himself, then begins the heavy task of lugging Sherlock down the stairs.

It takes a while and his shoulder is acting up, but John manages to get Sherlock back into his own bed. On the way up the stairs, John rolls his shoulder and yawns. Once inside his own room, he closes the door firmly.

\----

Two hours later, the door is opening again and John is pulled rudely from a dream involving the blonde cashier and her ginger friend. His eyes fly open and he's halfway out of bed before Sherlock's crawled into his bed again, pushing John over gently with his shoulder. He snuggles down under the covers again and gives a content little sigh.

John rolls his eyes and moves to the other side of the bed. There will be explaining to do in the morning, but it's three in the morning and John is tired. At least Sherlock is sleeping somewhere.

**Author's Note:**

> American, unbeta'd
> 
> Prompt: ambien makes one of the boys do crazy things


End file.
